


I will be your cover

by queenbaskerville



Series: for my whole crew [1]
Category: Leverage, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crimes & Criminals, Dialogue Heavy, Episode: s01e01 The Nigerian Job, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 01, Team as Family, Theft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville
Summary: "There was the identity theft thing where you saved your insurance company several million more dollars," Dubenich says, "but when you needed them—what happened to your daughter—"The sudden smell of hospital disinfectant makes her nose sting. Sara sets her glass of whiskey down."You know that part of the conversation where I beat you bloody with the baton I carry in my purse?" she says. "We're coming up on that pretty quick."—Excerpts from the version of Leverage in which Elizabeth Mitchell is a hacker, Peter Burke is a hitter, Neal Caffrey is a thief, Alex Hunter is a grifter, and Sara Ellis is the honest woman who watches over them.S1E01: The Nigerian Job.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Sara Ellis/Alex Hunter
Series: for my whole crew [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1850785
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	I will be your cover

**Author's Note:**

> so I just finished season 1 of leverage...
> 
> fic title from ["hold on, I'm coming" by sam and dave](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AREppyQf5uw)

"Excuse me," a man's voice says. "Ms. Ellis?"

Sara Ellis's lack of reply is buoyed by a cloud of irritation, but that's reasonable, under the circumstances. A strange man has approached her in a bar—and she doesn't know yet that this is important, that this is the first day of the rest of her life.

He's short, squirrely-looking, deeply nervous and not trying to hide it. 

"I've read all about you," the man says. "I know for example that—that when you found that stolen Monet painting in Florence you probably saved your insurance company twenty, twenty-five million dollars."

_Go away,_ she thinks.

She doesn't want to talk about her insurance company. As if Sterling Bosch has ever been hers. As if Phillip Kramer didn't hesitate to ruin her life after she dedicated it to making him look good.

"There was the identity theft thing where you saved your insurance company several million more dollars," the man continues, "but when you needed them—what happened to your daughter—"

The sudden smell of hospital disinfectant makes her nose sting. Sara sets her glass of whiskey down.

"You know that part of the conversation where I beat you bloody with the baton I carry in my purse?" she says. "We're coming up on that pretty quick."

"I just want to offer you a job," he says.

Victor Dubenich is the CEO of a company that designs airplanes, and after they sit down at a more private table, he hands her a folder. She wonders if his nervous air is genuine or affected in order to make her feel sorry for him. She doesn't—airplane design theft is far more a corporate problem rather than a personal one—but she's listening, so she supposes he's gotten what he wanted.

"I'm serious," Dubenich says. "Look at the people I've already hired. Do you recognize any of these names?"

Sara flips through the file.

"Yeah, I've chased all of them at one time or another," she says. She pauses over one piece of paper. "Caffrey?" she says. "You have Neal Caffrey?"

"Is there somebody better?" Dubenich says.

"No," Sara says. "He's the best. Which is why I have no idea why you think you need me. I'm not a thief."

"I've got thieves," Dubenich says. "What I need is one honest woman to watch them."

Sara evaluates the file again.

"It's not going to work," Sara says. "The problem is their rep. Caffrey hasn't worked with a partner in four years, and Mitchell and Burke _always_ work alone. No exceptions."

"They'll do it," Dubenich says. "For three hundred thousand dollars apiece, they'll do it. And you'll get double for managing them."

Sara thinks about that. Six hundred thousand dollars. Christ. Is she really considering this?

* * *

“This equipment is so eighties,” Mitchell complains. She starts opening a separate bag. “My stuff is way better.”

“No surprises,” Sara warns.

"Please. I've been doing this since college," Mitchell says. "I'm the queen of discipline."

(New York City Hotel, five years ago: the manager explains to the head of security that the guests had gone straight to their rooms, so he hadn't seen them, but their credit card numbers checked out. Security breaks down the door—inside the luxurious hotel room is Elizabeth Mitchell and two men, all in various stages of undress. The security guard gestures to her and says, "Does that look like Jane Fonda to you?" The manager blinks at Elizabeth and very wisely doesn't say anything about how he doesn't care what a woman's name is when she looks that good.)

"It's a bone-conduction earpiece mic," Mitchell says. "Works off the vibrations in your jaw."

She tosses the earpiece to Burke, who holds it up to his ear.

"You can hear everything," Mitchell whispers.

Burke—ignoring the shiver that runs down his spine at her voice in his ear like that—huffs and says, "Better than I expected."

Begrudging respect is not quite what Mitchell was looking for there. She gets a little irritated.

"I don't even know what you _do_ ," Mitchell says.

(Serbia, two years ago: Peter Burke says, "I'm here to collect the merchandise." A room full of men point guns at him. He takes a sip of his coffee. If anyone had been outside, they'd've heard a hail of gunfire and been blinded by the muzzle flashes. They wouldn't have seen what that leads to—Peter, uninjured, still standing; the gunmen, unconscious, all down. A scarred man who hasn't moved from his seat at the table slides over a vintage baseball card. Peter gives him a mild smile and takes another sip of his coffee. It's a beautiful Italian roast.)

" _I_ know what he does," Caffrey says. His head pops into view from where he's hanging upside down from the scaffolding. "I have to say, I don't like guns."

"Good, me neither," Burke says.

"I don't like _violence_ ," Caffrey adds.

"Well, that's just too bad," Burke says. "Sometimes it gets the job done."

Caffrey frowns, says nothing, and moves back out of view. Silent—in and out like a thief.

(Nineteen years ago in St. Louis: a small boy is sprawled out on the ground, his face badly bruised but expressionless. "You thought I wouldn't find this?" his foster father says, waving a sketchbook in the air. "I took this because you don't get to draw again—" he starts tearing the pages out and ripping them up— "until you do what I say. So be a good kid, now—or, I don't know, a better thief." He walks out and slams the door behind him. The boy waits until he's gone to stand up, fetch a bag of peas from the freezer, and contemplate the wallet and car keys he just lifted from his foster father's pocket. The boy's name is not Neal Caffrey. Not yet, anyway.)

"You know, the last time I used this rig was Paris, 2003," Caffrey says fondly.

"Are you talking about the Caravaggio?" Sara says incredulously. "You stole that?"

"Allegedly," Caffrey says, "Ms. Insurance Investigator."

"Former insurance investigator," Sara says.

"Is this thing safe?" Burke says, poking at the comm in his ear.

"Yeah, it's completely safe," Mitchell says, and, because she's tired of being second-guessed and underestimated, she adds, "It's just, you know, you might experience nausea, weakness in your right side, stroke—"

"You're precisely why I work alone," Burke grumbles.

"Alright, people, listen up," Sara says. 

They already have their instructions. Caffrey will go to the electrical room; Burke will escort Mitchell to the room with all the techy shit that the plans are stored on.

"We're gonna go on my count and not a second sooner. Caffrey, no freelancing. On my count."

"Aw," Mitchell says. She forgets to be mad at Burke for a second and sends an amused glance his way at Sara Ellis's harsh tone. "She doesn't want to be our pal."

"We're professionals," Burke says to Sara. "Relax, we know what we're doing."

Sara doesn't reply to that and starts the countdown.

"Five," she says.

(None of them see, but Caffrey gets a mischievous look on his face as he double-checks his harness one last time.)

"Four," Sara says.

Quiet, rapid footsteps make Burke and Elizabeth turn their heads, just as Caffrey runs past them.

"And he's gone," Burke says, as Caffrey sprints forward and leaps off the roof. He's far more graceful than he has any right to be, making a leap like that. Elegant and quiet and fast. 

"Son of a _bitch_ ," Sara says.

Burke and Mitchell rush to the edge of the roof to watch his descent.

"He didn't even hesitate," Mitchell says. She leans back from the edge a little bit, dizzy with vertigo.

"You know what that is?" Burke says. "That's twenty pounds of crazy in a five-pound bag."

* * *

"Ten-digit password," Mitchell observes after plugging her passcode breaker. "I salute you, sir."

She waits for the program to finish running and tenses up when it comes in over the comms that the guards are doing their rounds early.

"Why would they do that?" Sara says. She sounds like she's just thinking out loud and that she doesn't actually expect an answer.

Burke says something, though.

"They're looking at monitors, right?" Burke says. "Does one of them have sports on it?"

"Yeah," Caffrey says from where he's got a digital eye on the security guards' main room. "But people watch sports all the time."

"Tonight's the playoffs," Burke says.

"Oh, God damn it," Sara says. "Burke, handle it. Use Mitchell as bait."

"Wait, what?" Mitchell says. She looks down at her gadget with alarm and wills it to work faster. "I'm not anybody's bait!"

It doesn't magically work faster, though, which means she's still standing there when four guards round the corner and shout at her to freeze.

Mitchell raises her hands in irritated surrender. She notices Burke coming around the corner but deliberately doesn't look at him in order not to give him away. She drops her bag.

In the time it takes her bag to hit the ground, Burke has—with extremely effective but nonlethal force—dispatched all four of the men.

He frees the gun he's picked up of its bullets, tosses it behind him, and offers her a smile that she thinks would be unbearably smug on anybody else.

"That's what I do," he says.

_I am so turned on right now,_ she doesn't say.

* * *

"Problem," Caffrey says. "Those guards you attacked?"

"Yes?" Burke says, with more patience than he thinks is warranted given the amount of judgment in Caffrey's voice when he says attacked.

"They reset all the alarms on the roof and all the floors above us," Caffrey says. "We can't go up."

Burke and Mitchell glance at each other.

"Every man for himself, then," Burke says, and he ignores the twinge of guilt in his stomach at Mitchell's angry look.

"Go ahead," Mitchell says. "I'm the one with the merchandise."

"Yeah, well," Caffrey says, sitting pretty in the electrical room, "I'm the one with an exit."

"And I'm the one with a plan," Sara cuts in. "Now, I know you children don't play well with others, but I need you to hold it together for exactly seven more minutes."

"'Children,'" Burke mutters. "I'm older than you."

"Then act like it," Sara says. "Get to the elevator and head down. We're doing the burn scam."

Chagrined, Burke leads Mitchell in the direction of the elevator. When they step in, Burke turns away from Mitchell politely so they can each have a bit of privacy while they change clothes. 

"Going to Plan B," Mitchell murmurs.

"Technically that would be Plan G," Sara says.

They finish changing just as the elevator opens on another floor, and Caffrey runs in. He shamelessly begins stripping, his shirt gone first. Burke turns away abruptly. Mitchell definitely does not.

"How many plans do we have?" Burke says, his eyes focused on the ceiling. "Is there a Plan M?"

"Yeah," Sara says. "Caffrey gets arrested in Plan M."

"I like Plan M," Burke says. He keeps his gaze skyward.

Mitchell is still watching Caffrey, who has reached close-to-naked levels of undress. She says, "You're saying that handcuffs are involved in Plan M?"

Caffrey winks at her.

Caffrey's humor fades into placid neutrality when he starts putting the burn makeup on Mitchell's face. She wouldn't think anything of it except that he won't look her in the eye. She's glad when he's done that she can turn away from him and put the leg brace on one of her legs. Burke hands her the crutches and the two men flank her on the way out of the elevator, posture protective and guarding but open enough that the security guard at the front desk will see her injuries and be thrown off guard enough for them to start yelling at him. Burke does an excellent job, and Caffrey does fine, but something about him seems off, like his heart's not in it. 

He's still silent when they get in Sara's car. Mitchell and Caffrey sit in the backseat, and he keeps his head turned to look out the window while she takes off the leg brace. It's not until a few minutes after she peels the burn makeup off her face that he turns his head away from the window—but even then, he looks straight ahead at Burke's headrest. 

"Internet cafe?" Mitchell suggests.

"I'm going to find us a place to park," Sara says.

"What, you expect me to do a file transfer of this side in the middle of the street?" Mitchell says.

She looks at Caffrey, hoping he'll back her up, but he still won't look at her.

"We have time," Sara says.

"It could take ages if I don't have a steady Wifi connection," Mitchell says.

"Get it done by sunrise," Sara says.

"I've only got a few Wifi options with crappy bandwidth," Mitchell says once they've found somewhere to stand around. 

But she gets it done.

(The nice thing about how much time it takes is that Caffrey gets over whatever funk he was in and brightens up enough to joke around with her. She and Caffrey tease Burke a little bit, which puts Caffrey in even better spirits.)

"There you go," she says finally. "The designs are sent."

"The money will be in all your accounts later today," Sara says.

"Anybody else notice how excellent we were last night?" Mitchell says.

She's starting to like Caffrey. And, despite a lot of things, maybe she likes Burke, too. 

Sara doesn't budge, though, and when she doesn't, nobody else does, either.

"Yeah, well," Burke says, "one show only, no encores."

"I already forgot your names," Caffrey reassures them.

"It was kind of cool, though," Mitchell says, "being on the same side."

"No, we are _not_ on the same side," Sara says firmly. "I am not a _thief_."

"You are now," Caffrey says. "Come on, Sara, tell the truth. Didn't you have a little bit of fun playing Black King instead of White Knight, just this once?"

She doesn’t deign that with a response. 

They go their separate ways.

* * *

Sara's phone ringing wakes her up. When she answers the phone, Dubenich shouts at her, claiming he never received the plans, saying he's going to freeze all the payments. Any leftover bleariness from the abrupt wake-up call dissipates immediately. 

"Let's straighten this out," Sara says. "I'll come see you."

"No, no," Dubenich hisses. "Don't come here. Are you crazy? Look, I've got an aircraft facility outside the city." He gives her a time of when to meet, shouts at her a little more, and hangs up.

What a disaster.

At the designated time, Sara strides toward the central area of the empty facility, trying not to let a headache build from the loud voices arguing ahead.

"You mind telling me what happened to the designs?" Mitchell says.

"What makes you think I know what happened?" Burke says. 

"You did something on the elevator, didn't you?" Mitchell says.

"That doesn't make any sense," Burke says. "You had the file every second!"

"Don't blame me! I did my part!" Mitchell says. "I transferred the files!"

"Hey!" Sara shouts.

It gets them to shut up for a second, but it has the unpleasant effect of making them unite against her.

"Did you do it?" Mitchell says. "You're the only one that's ever played both sides."

"I didn't do it," Sara says. "Are you armed? Either of you?'

"I don't like guns," Burke says.

Sara looks to Mitchell.

"I—don't know how to use one," she admits.

Burke's eyes dart toward something behind Sara. She whirls around, reaching for the baton in her purse, but it's just Caffrey, who holds his hands up in surrender. She drops her hand from her purse and he lowers his hands back down to his sides.

"You know, it's a funny thing," Caffrey says mildly. "I checked my account this morning, and my money's not in it."

"I'm sure that's very upsetting for you," Peter says.

Caffrey shrugs.

"Can't blame a guy for wanting proper compensation for services rendered," he says.

While they're talking, Sara takes stock of the situation.

"Would you ever come here," she wonders, "to get paid?"

"Global transfers," Elizabeth says with a shake of her head. "It's the age of the geek, babe. I don't need to show up somewhere in person to get paid."

"It's a walk-away," Burke agrees. "I wasn't supposed to see any of you again."

The realization hits Sara like a train, and she can't help but laugh. 

The criminals in front of her look at her with something akin to concern.

"The only reason you're here is because you didn't get paid," Sara says. "As a matter of fact, " she continues, "the _only_ way to get us all in the same place at the same time is to tell us that we're not getting paid."

She starts taking off her high heels. 

To their credit, the three of them catch on very quickly. Their eyes widen with horror.

"Let's _go_ ," Sara says.

All four of them take off—Sara in the lead, Burke ushering Mitchell with a protective hand at her back right behind Sara, and Caffrey at the rear. At one point Mitchell stumbles and Caffrey and Burke haul her up. 

They make it out of the building, but they're still too close to the explosion: the blast is the last thing Sara hears before her world goes dark.

* * *

Sara wakes up handcuffed to a hospital bed. She reels wildly from the antiseptic smell, the chaotic sounds from the halls, the white paint on the walls and ceiling all around her. There's a horrible spike of fear as she looks around for her daughter and a far, far worse spike of grief when she remembers that her daughter is gone.

"You don't like hospitals much, do you?" Mitchell says. 

Mitchell is handcuffed to a chair facing Sara's bed.

"Not much," Sara says. "Burke and Caffrey?"

"Next room over," Burke calls out. His voice comes through the air vent at the top of the wall.

"Caffrey awake?" Sara says.

"I was the first one up," Caffrey says. "Around the time the cops and firemen got to the building."

(Although he had been terrified out of his mind to see the other three unconscious and sprawled on the ground around him, he's glad now that none of the rest of them had woken up before they were in transit. None of them knew he'd been checking their pulses over and over before being cuffed and having a panic attack.)

"They fingerprinted us," Burke says.

Mitchell holds up her own darkened fingertips helpfully. Sara glances down at her own.

"How long do we have?" Sara says.

Mitchell explains some of the tech stuff about the fingerprinting process and databases. 

"So we've got to get out of here in the next ten minutes," Burke says, "or we're going to jail."

This sparks another round of bickering until Sara gets them all under control again. They know what they can do, but she knows what all of them can do. If she just has a second to think, she can get them out of this.

"Do you trust me?" she says.

"You're an honest woman," Burke says. It's as much of a yes as she's going to get.

"Caffrey," she says. "Phone."

"Oh, this is gonna suck," Caffrey says.

"What—" Burke starts.

He's interrupted by a horrible retching sound. Burke makes a disgusted noise.

* * *

Caffrey takes a photo of himself and passes the phone through the grate. Mitchell starts working on the digital aspects of Caffrey's impending disguise as an FBI agent. Caffrey passes through a second phone, and Sara gets to work—she makes a call, and affects a cheery Midwestern accent, pretending to be a secretary at the police station.

"I have someone from the FBI on the line, sir," she tells the cop. She slides the phone back through the grate. 

Caffrey passes it to Burke, who does his best solemn and serious FBI impression—not hard for him, Sara thinks—and says they're sending down an agent to pick up the dangerous wanted criminals.

Caffrey himself seems delighted by the opportunity to pretend to be an agent, and although he's gentle when he maneuvers the handcuffed Sara and Mitchell into the car, he accidentally knocks Burke's head against the door frame.

"Stop resisting," Caffrey hisses, and he pushes down on Burke's shoulder again. Burke's glare is thunderous, but he allows Caffrey to push him into the car. Caffrey gives a grin and a professional wave to the cops, and then they're off.

* * *

"I'm going to beat Dubenich so badly that even the people who look like him are going to bleed," Burke snarls.

"You won't get within a hundred yards of him," Caffrey says. "He knows our faces. He knows all our faces."

"He tried to kill us!" Burke says furiously.

"More importantly, he didn't pay us," Mitchell says.

Burke rounds on her.

"How is that more important?" he hisses from between clenched teeth.

"I take that personally," Mitchell says.

"There's something wrong with you," Peter says.

* * *

Sara talks them out of running. Caffrey, somehow, is the hardest sell, very eager to take the plane ticket Mitchell offers and get out of there. But they stay, and they listen. She _feels_ it when she's got them hooked. They can do this. She knows they can, and they know it, too. She's got them. Even though they make her convince them just a little more.

"What's in it for me?" Burke says.

"Payback," Sara says, "and, if it goes right, a lot of money."

"What's in it for me?" Mitchell says. 

"A lot of money," Sara says, "and, if it goes right, payback."

Sara looks at Caffrey, who's been quiet.

"Caffrey?" she says.

"I don't like bombs," he says.

"Does anyone?" Mitchell says, at the same time as Burke mutters, "You don't like _anything_."

"You're in?" Sara says.

"Yeah," Caffrey says. "Yeah, I'm in."

"What do you get out of it?" Burke asks.

Sara pauses. The rage that's been at the back of her mind—she allows some of it to bleed through to the surface.

"He used my daughter," she says.

* * *

Sara takes them to an art gallery. The three of them follow her around as she meanders through it.

"Hands to yourself, Caffrey," Sara murmurs. It would do no good for him to get sticky fingers now. Especially not with _these_ paintings.

Caffrey obediently keeps his hands clasped behind his back.

"What are we here for?" Burke murmurs to Mitchell.

"Dubenich knows us," Sara reminds them. "We need a fresh face."

A tall, well-dressed brunette woman saunters over toward them. 

"Everyone," Sara says, "meet Alexandra Hunter."

"Please," Alex says, "call me Alex."

(Copenhagen, seven years ago: Alex Hunter is doing something very criminal to a painting. Sara Ellis bursts into the room with a gun in hand and shouts for her to freeze. Alex spins around with a gun and shoots her in the shoulder. Sara shoots her right back. Alex gapes at her, clutches her shoulder, and says, "Oh, you bitch!")

"They're brilliant," Sara says, gesturing around them.

"My only fan," Alex says.

The gallery is almost packed with people. There are several artists on display, but Alex's art wouldn't be here if her only fan was an ex-insurance investigator.

"None of these paintings are Alex Hunter's," Burke observes. "Which one are you?"

"You don't want to guess?" Alex says.

Burke looks around. "Well—"

"Maxine Webster," Caffrey says. 

Burke and Mitchell look to Alex for confirmation. Sara, on the other hand, is looking at Neal with increasingly narrowed eyes.

"Show off," Alex says.

"How'd you know?" Mitchell asks.

"I recognized the style," Caffrey says.

”Distinctive style, huh?” Burke says.

Caffrey shrugs.

"It’s been a while, Neal," Alex says.

"Hey, Alex."

"You two know each other?" Sara says.

"We may have had a little rendezvous in Copenhagen," Caffrey says.

Sara gapes at the two of them.

"Yes," Alex confirms, "in—"

"The year isn't important," Caffrey says quickly.

(Caffrey is thinking that he doesn't need the insurance investigator—former, his ass—who's been after him for years knowing more about his previous crimes than absolutely necessary. Alex is thinking, _What a lovely opportunity to make Sara jealous._ )

"You know, I'm a citizen now," Alex says to Sara. It's practically a purr. "Honest."

Sara's voice is low and intent when she answers.

"I'm not."

"You're playing my side?" Alex says. She considers this, looking pleased. "I always thought you had it in you."

"Are you in?" Sara says.

"I wouldn't miss this," Alex says.

* * *

Burke pretends to be an IT guy, and he flirts with Dubenich's secretary. Caffrey silently drops out of a ceiling panel in Dubenich's office, catches Peter's eye, and winks at him before getting to work.

* * *

Caffrey and Sara play pool while Mitchell and Burke watch whatever game is on. They've both declined the beers that Burke offered them earlier. It's not really either of their thing.

"You look better than when we started," Caffrey observes quietly. "That bothers you, huh?"

"Well," Sara says, "this isn't supposed to be—"

"We're taking down somebody who tried to have us killed," Caffrey says. "You're the good guy. Your conscience is clear."

Sara still looks troubled.

Caffrey weighs the pros and cons of continuing and decides to take the plunge.

"I'm sorry about your daughter," he says.

"You don't know anything about that," Sara says sharply.

"Everybody knows," Caffrey says gently. "A woman like you goes off the street, a lot of people notice. And what happened—you don't have to answer, but. What excuse did the insurance company give you for not paying for your daughter’s treatment?"

Sara fiddles with the pool cue in her hands.

"They claimed it was experimental," she says finally.

Caffrey nods.

If he was an asshole, he'd probably say something like, _You should've kept one of those Monets you found._ Fencing it would've probably paid for treatment just fine. But her child is dead. He's not cruel. And he's pretty sure it's something she's wondered about hundreds of times. The _what-if_ and the _should've, could've, would've_ don't do anyone any good. They're a way to get lost in the past. Caffrey's not going to send her down that path again. Sara looks miserable enough already.

"Caffrey," Sara sighs. She sounds tired, and maybe a little bit regretful. "You and I are not friends."

"I know," he says. He nods his head at something behind her. "Incoming," he says. He puts his pool cue down and melts away.

"Hey," Alex says, catching Sara's eye, "can you help me with this earpiece?"

"Oh," Sara says, "well, Mitchell—"

"Sara, come on," Alex says, holding the earpiece out to her.

Sara takes it. She approaches Alex slowly, and she tucks a loose strand of Alex's hair behind her ear. She very gently places the earpiece in.

"Thanks," Alex says. She leans in a little closer. "This time you really are inside my head."

* * *

To distract Dubenich from trying to look up their nonexistent offices in the building directory, Sara strides down the street with her baton out and starts smashing car windows. She imagines that each one is Philip Kramer's face.

It feels damn good.

* * *

After it's over, and they've each received a paycheck with a frankly ridiculous amount of money on it, all five of them stand in a circle, carefully not looking at each other.

"So, we're out, huh?" Mitchell says. "I mean, we're out. This is retirement money. This is 'go straight and buy an island' money."

"It was a pleasure working with you," Sara says.

(She wishes she didn't mean it.)

"Yeah," Burke says. "One show only. No encores."

"I already forgot your names," Caffrey says.

They take measure of each other. One last look.

They walk their separate ways.

A few moments later, Mitchell catches up to Sara.

"You know, I've never had that much fun on a job," Mitchell says.

"This is a walk-away," Sara reminds her.

"I used to want to be an event planner," Mitchell says. "You, though—you have a real talent for management, has anybody ever told you that?"

Burke slows his quick jog and matches Sara's pace on the other side of her as Mitchell's walking on.

"I'm really good at one thing," Burke says.

"Burke—"

"Only one thing," Burke says, "and that's it, but, you know, you've got a good head on your shoulders."

"You want to know what I think?" Caffrey says. He has magically appeared on the other side of Mitchell, looking for all in the world like he's just having a stroll and happens to be there.

"Not really," Sara says.

"How long until you fall apart again?" Caffrey says.

"Right for the jugular's not usually your style," Sara says. "I'm touched."

"A woman like you can't be out of the game," Caffrey says. "You need the chase."

"I'll manage," Sara says. She answers her ringing phone. "Ellis."

All of them slow as they approach the bench that Alex is relaxing on. Alex hangs up her phone. Sara puts hers away.

(Sara hasn't realized it yet, but this is the moment _Burke_ and _Mitchell_ and _Caffrey_ become _Peter_ and _Elizabeth_ and _Neal_ , and it's the moment she starts believing she won't have to chase Alex forever. That maybe she's got people who will stick around.)

"You pick the jobs," Alex says.

"My job is helping people," Sara says. "I help find crooks."

"Then go find some crooks," Alex says. "Crooks have money. What do you say? Black King, White Knight?"

* * *

"We provide leverage," Sara says to the desperate client in front of her, and though her face is as still as a lake, a thrill courses through her—the same thrill, she knows, that courses through all of the people standing at her back.

**Author's Note:**

> this series should take them through all of season 1 + S2E01, with an epilogue and a deleted scene


End file.
